


Masquerade

by MadamRed



Series: 400-Follower Celebration (Tumblr) [8]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Love, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamRed/pseuds/MadamRed
Summary: Writing prompts requested on Tumblr: “You love me, really” & “You’re clearly drunk.”





	

He had remained professional after the break-up, just as he promised you he would. You had taken some time off to clear your head and then re-joined the team as if nothing had happened. The only one who had known about the relationship had been Aaron. The rest, you two were sure, didn’t suspect a thing.

That was until you started dating someone a year later, and David couldn’t really mask his moods as easily as he used to while you were still single. He knew he didn’t have any right to tell you anything since _he_ had been the one to call it off once it started getting too serious after a year and a half of being together.

But now? You were three years into this other relationship, and he didn’t know what to do as you excitedly showed everyone the engagement ring. What could he do other than put on a fake smile and congratulate you?

He had never been happier as Garcia told the team they had a case on the other side of the country that morning. He felt Aaron’s eyes on him, watching his reaction, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he cornered him with a drink in hand to talk about the situation the minute the invitations came in the mail.

However, months passed and no official date was announced. And he foolishly relaxed, thinking you might want to call it off. Nothing puts as much pressure on a relationship as a ring, and he hoped and prayed you and your fiancé were no exception to the rule...

He was wrong, of course. One Friday morning, you came into the office and handed out the invitations yourself. He couldn’t even meet your eyes as you gave him the elegant, yet simple envelope.

You were getting married in three months. He was going to officially lose you to another man in the short period of ninety days. He would have to rely on mere memories of you and resort to reminiscing the way your body felt next to his during cold nights. He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss you but he had lost his chance. He had blown it.

Forward time a little and suddenly he was painfully aware that it was the night of your bachelorette party... you would be gone in your honeymoon in a week’s time. He was at the office, drinking with Hotch, trying to subdue his woe, but to no avail. He had already made up his mind: he wasn’t going to your wedding. He was physically unable to watch you get married to another man; the mental image alone was enough to pull on his heart in such a way that he felt paralysed.

So, with as much dignity as he could muster, he put the empty glass on the desk and thanked Hotch for his efforts to cheer him up. He sat in his car for a long time before he managed to gather up the courage to go back to his empty house.

Once he arrived and opened the door, his cell phone rang. He cursed a little as he fumbled with the device and checked the ID. It was you, calling from your private number, not your work phone. He hesitated and then allowed it to ring, the sound echoing around the big living room. It finally stopped and he sighed, before it started back up again. _Should he answer?_ What if something had happened to you? He would regret it later if it had.

He cleared his throat and answered on your third try.

‘Hello?’ the deafening sound of women screaming in the background made him move the phone away from his ear, before trying again a little louder. ‘Hello? (Y/N)?’

‘Yes! Sorry, I didn’t think you would pick up,’ you said, as the background noise got further and further away.

‘Are you okay?’ he had grabbed his car key and was now holding it tight, using the pain in his palm as an anchor.

‘Yes, yes, I’m... fine,’ he could now hear cars and the faint sounds of broken conversations happening around you.

‘Where are you?’ he asked, even though it was a no-brainer that you were at a strip club.

‘Getting into a taxi,’ you said and covered the phone as you told the driver where to take you, and David left his car key on the coffee table.

‘Going home already? It’s only 1 am,’ he commented as he grabbed his own bottle of scotch from his bar. If he was going to talk to you, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be sober for it.

‘Something like that,’ your breathing was becoming slightly shallower and you felt your hands getting sweatier by the second.

‘Hmm,’ was all he said, and you didn’t know how to continue.

You remained silent, listening to him getting ice from his fancy fridge, obviously preparing a drink and you started biting your nails.

‘Stop that,’ he told you.

‘What?’

‘The biting. I mean, you can cover it with some fake nails tomorrow but-’

‘David,’ you interrupted him as you paid the driver and got out of the vehicle, ‘make another one.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Another drink. I’d assume you still remember my favourite...,’ you trailed off and walked up the long driveway.

‘A perfect Martini, lemon twist, no ice,’ he said, not a second later, as he heard the distinct sound of heels climbing the few steps to his front door. ‘(Y/n),’ a clear warning in his voice, ‘what are you doing?’

‘Either making the best or the worst decision of my life,’ you answered, short of breath.

He hung up and opened the door against his better judgement.

‘(Y/n), you’re clearly drunk. I’ll call for a car, you should... go home,’ his eyes were sincere. You had always been able to tell if he was being honest by just looking into them.

‘I’m not drunk. And that’s exactly what I did. I _am_ home. _You_ are home, David,’ you stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind you.

He was staring at you, rooted to the spot, so you took advantage of it and moved towards him. He instinctively moved backwards, lowering his eyes to look for the ring you had taken off even before hitting the club.

‘Where’s the ring?’ he asked, closing his eyes.

‘Inside the box it came in, on my bedside table, next to the note I wrote explaining everything,’ you put your left hand on his cheek and planted a chaste kiss on his right cheek.

‘Have you told him?’ he enquired, breathily, and opened his eyes.

‘I called him before I called you. He was... quite kind, actually, and told me he knew my heart wasn’t really into it. That even my mood changed after we got engaged. That he had been hopeful he would be able to regain my affection but I just...,’ you moved away and started pacing, ‘I couldn’t go through it, Dave. I thought I’d moved on, I really did. But when he proposed and I said yes, I felt it, in my gut, you know? It felt _wrong.’_

‘Then why did you go through everything? The magazines, the venues, the dress appointments?’ he had wanted to stay out of it all and not listen, but it was hard when you openly talked about it on the jet with the others.

‘I don’t know, okay?! I was scared and people kept asking for a date, so I gave them that! Then the venue, so I put forward a deposit! The dress? Sure, I’ll pick one. People kept pushing me and I let them because I was too much of a coward to face my own feelings.’

‘Which are?’

‘I... I never moved on,’ you confessed with tears falling down your cheeks. ‘You were, _are,_ the one for me. I never cared about your failed marriages. I don’t even care that you have a daughter who is slightly younger than me. With you, it all felt... right.’

The moment the final word came out, he covered your mouth with his. Time stopped for a second and your heart skipped a beat. Oh, how you had missed it. The way his hands held you by the waist and grabbed you tighter when you bit his lower lip. The way his beard tickled your face. The way he would always smile into the kiss when you put your hands around his neck and brought him closer to you.

He slowed the kiss down after a while until he separated completely and looked deep into your eyes.

‘Are you sure about his, (Y/n)? Because this time... this time, I won’t push you away. I know how bitter that kind of mistake tastes like and I’m not making it again.’

‘I am. I’ve been sure since the moment you asked me out and picked me up for our first date,’ you smiled as you remembered how easily conversation had flowed between you two that night.

‘That’s a hell of a long time,’ he smiled back.

You started kissing his neck and unbuttoning his shirt rather slowly considering how desperate you were to feel his body again. When his hands went to do the same with your clothes, you stopped him and moved away from him, and he groaned, frustrated.

‘Do you want me to beg or something?’ he asked as he fixated his eyes on the little skin he had managed to uncover.

‘Maybe,’ and he groaned again, knowing he needed to make it up to you for ruining everything in the first place. ‘Come on, you know you love me, really,’ you winked playfully, discarding items of clothing as you made your way up the stairs.

‘That I do, _Bella,’_ he said loud enough for you to hear. He caught up with you at his bedroom door and kissed your cheek before whispering low in your ear, ‘I never stopped loving you, really.’

You smiled and kissed him as you showed him how much you had truly missed him. You would deal with the phone calls and the consequences in the morning. Now? It was just you and him again.


End file.
